Sweet Nothings
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Slash, Gil & Greg. Even guys need to hear sweet nothings now and then, but G&G have some trouble delivering the words. NEW: Grissom deals with a new term of endearment.
1. Angel

Sweet Nothings

Slash, Gil & Greg. Established relationship.

Summary: Even guys like to hear sweet nothings now and then.

* * *

Greg watched as Mandy Webster, the fingerprint expert, gave a last look at the file open in front of her.

"Come on, come on," he muttered.

She signed the report with a flourish, and then handed it to him.

"There you go," she said, "Take it to the boss. Oh, and don't forget to -"

"Thanks, Mandy!" Greg shot out of the lab without waiting for the rest. In the rush, he almost collided with a group of temps standing idly in a corner. "Sorry!" he muttered, then kept on going. A couple of years ago he would have probably stopped to talk to the girls, probably flirt with them –but not anymore. He was a CSI now; time was precious. He had a report, and taking it to its final destination seemed like a matter of life and death to him.

Lab technicians and other CSIs who'd seen him act like this before pressed themselves against the walls or simply ducked back into their labs. They'd learned the hard way not to get in the way of Greg Sanders when he looked like this.

Greg muttered a few 'thanks' now and then, but he wasn't really aware of the people he encountered; he was too busy thinking of Grissom. He was wondering what Gil's reaction was gonna be when he realized that Greg had managed to break the Andersen murder case -the first he'd got to work solo.

Grissom often said that a truly great man shouldn't seek anybody's approval but his own, but hey, that was easy for him to say. _He_ was Grissom; whose approval did he really need? But for the people working for him it was a different matter; everybody, from the lowest lab tech to the highest CSI would always strive to get his approval. It was inevitable.

Now in Greg's case, it wasn't just the boss' approval he sought –it was the lover's too. He wanted to make Gil proud; he wanted to impress him. Truth to be told, it seemed that Grissom liked to be impressed. He didn't say much on those occasions, but the smile he gave Greg was eloquent enough. And the look in his eyes… There was admiration in those blue eyes of his. Pride.

A little lust, too.

Thinking of all this only fueled Greg's determination to get to Gil's office before anyone else did. He practically flew around the corner, only to skid to a halt as he came face to face with one man who would hardly step aside for him. Warrick Brown.

"Hey," Brown said cordially, "Where's the fire?"

Greg waved the file in Warrick's face.

"I got a match to Andersen's fingerprints!"

"Already?" Warrick frowned. "But I handed _my_ evidence to Mandy way before you did!"

Greg shrugged.

"Yeah, well. That's what happens when you get married, my friend. The girls no longer care about you."

Actually, he'd done some of the work involved in order to get his results so quickly, but he wasn't about to mention that. He walked around Warrick, "Gotta take this to the boss," he announced, waving the folder in the air.

He rushed once again, only to come to an abrupt halt.

Grissom had a visitor.

Even from a distance, Greg could easily see Catherine Willows through the half-open blinds. She seemed perfectly at ease, talking animatedly to Grissom.

Greg groaned in disappointment. This was not good. When it came to those two, a meeting could take anything from five minutes to an hour. They were coworkers _and_ friends; they always had plenty to talk about.

There was only one thing for him to do now.

Eavesdrop.

Not that he'd ever called it eavesdropping; he considered more like 'fact-checking.' If it sounded like they were discussing a big case, then he'd go straight to the break room; if it sounded like they were wrapping things up, then he'd try to hang around for a while.

All he had to do was walk slowly past Grissom's door with ears perked up and eyes fixed on the file on his hand. He'd done it countless times before.

"Here we go," he muttered to himself.

All along, Greg assumed he'd be hearing something related to work; maybe even something about Catherine's daughter. Instead, he heard Catherine say, a little wistfully, "You're happy, then." And Grissom reply, in his quiet, understated way, "I am."

Greg almost froze in mid-step. That didn't sound like work; it sounded like… Like Grissom was discussing his love life. Greg mechanically kept on going, then slowed down until he came to a complete halt. Without thinking, he retraced a couple of steps until he was close enough to peer inside Gil's office again.

Through the blinds he could see Gil smile and nod at something Catherine was saying.

Greg hesitated; he needed to hear the rest of the conversation but he couldn't very well keep walking past Gil's door. In the end, he resorted to one of the oldest tricks in the world: he pretended he needed to retie his shoes. He crouched down, propped the file against the wall, and then slowly started retying his shoes, all while straining his ears to hear what was going on inside.

"I never thought it would be like this," Grissom was saying. "He's my angel. I've learned more from him about being a human being in the last two years than I learned in the first fifty."

'Wow,' Greg thought, his heart starting to beat faster. He didn't know Gil felt so strongly about him or that he could even admit it out loud. Gil could be quite demonstrative as a lover, but when it came to actually _saying_ things, well… he just wouldn't.

Until now.

It was thrilling to hear it but a bit troubling, too. Greg always assumed they'd be keeping their relationship private, and here was Gil spilling his guts to a coworker. And this irked him too; why did Grissom tell all these things to Catherine, instead of telling them to him?

He was still mulling over this when Catherine herself came out of the office.

Greg scrambled to his feet and faced her.

"Hey, Greg," she said.

Suddenly tongue-tied, Greg merely nodded. Catherine smiled; a friendly, every-day smile, thank God. For a moment Greg was afraid she would pull him aside and start questioning him about Grissom, or congratulate him, or something. But Catherine was the soul of discretion. She didn't even stop to talk.

Seeing her walk away, Greg finally managed a greeting.

"Hi, Catherine," he mumbled. "Bye, Catherine," he added as an afterthought. He watched her walk briskly down the hall.

Once she was out of sight he went into Grissom's office.

"Hey, Grissom," he greeted. He took a seat without waiting for an invitation.

Gil looked up.

"Any break in the Andersen case?"

'Well, good evening to you too, my _angel,_' Greg thought ironically. Aloud, he said, "As a matter of fact, there is." He couldn't help sounding smug as he added, "We got a match to Andersen's fingerprints," and he handed over his report.

"That was fast," Gil mumbled as he started to read.

Greg started fidgeting. He just couldn't wait for Grissom to finish the report so they could talk. He couldn't wait to hear Grissom say the word 'angel' to his face.

Or any other word, for that matter.

Ironically, back when they first got involved, Greg's biggest fear was that Grissom would find it easier to talk than to _do_ things, and that he would be wasting their few hours together quoting phrases from old songs and poems. When Gil showed himself to be just the opposite, he was relieved; so relieved, that the fact that Grissom had some difficulty expressing his feelings didn't really bother him. He considered just another of Gil's little quirks.

But as time passed, he started to feel cheated. After all, even guys like to hear a word every now and then; some little term of endearment –anything. Even words quoted from a book or a song.

But Gil didn't talk; and since he didn't talk, Greg didn't, either.

'But that's going to change now,' Greg thought. He cleared his throat.

"So," he said, "You've got an angel, huh?"

Gil glanced at him over the top of his glasses.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah. It's not like you were whispering, you know."

"Huh." Gil held Greg's gaze for a couple of seconds, and then looked down at the report again. A picture had caught his attention; in fact, he was so mesmerized by whatever he saw in it, he reached for a magnifier to take a closer look.

Greg waited for a couple of minutes, and then tried again.

"To tell you the truth, I was kind of surprised."

"About?" Gil asked, his eyes still on the picture.

"This angel thing. I mean, I'm ok with it if you are ok with it, but… I don't know. I just assumed you'd want to keep it secret. I mean, most of the guys here are cool but some of them might not understand."

"It's all right," Gil replied without looking up. "I don't care what anyone says."

"You don't?" Greg was impressed. Gil's attitude took a lot of guts. "You really wouldn't mind if they started talking?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Gil muttered.

Greg frowned. "It would not?"

"They talked plenty when I had a spider," Gil explained morosely. "They said I was too attached to her; they said I was spoiling her -"

"Your spider -"

"–so, no," Gil added testily, "I don't care what they say about me and my dog."

"Your DOG?" Greg blurted out, his eyes bulging. "You were talking about your DOG?"

Gil looked up.

"Yes," he said innocently. "Why? Who did you think I was talking about?"

"I thought you-"

But he caught himself on time. Oh, no way. No way was he going to admit the truth, here. Since he didn't know what else to say, though, he remained with his mouth half-open in mid-word for what felt like an eternity before he could finally manage a word.

"I… _thought _it was your dog," he said brazenly. "I mean, yeah, I _knew_ it was Bruno you were talking about. I was just surprised you'd want to talk about him. With Catherine, I mean. She doesn't keep pets, does she?"

"It's all right," Grissom said distractedly. It was obvious he couldn't wait to go back to the report, but just as he was looking down again, Greg spoke.

"But hearing you talk about Bruno's got me wondering," he said, and he waited until Grissom looked up again. "If he's your angel, then what am I?"

Grissom didn't miss a beat.

"You are about to be late for the autopsy," he said simply.

Greg didn't move.

"Autopsy?" he repeated in confusion.

"Sam Andersen's autopsy," Gil said matter-of-factly. When Greg didn't react, he lifted the report he'd been reading, "The man whose death you're investigating? You begged Doc Robbins to do the autopsy first thing tonight, remember?"

Greg jumped from his seat.

"Shit!" he blurted out, "I forgot about it!" He was about to turn to the door, but the sight of Grissom calmly picking his magnifier again made him stop. He stared at Gil in disbelief. Gil had craftily evaded his question!

He didn't want to let him get away with it but on the other hand, he did have an autopsy to go to. Like Gil said, he'd begged the Doc to do Andersen first. Without the coroner's report, the case was incomplete.

It was a hard decision to make, but duty came first.

Resigned, he turned to go.

"Hey, Greg?"

Greg looked back only reluctantly. Right now, he was not a fan of Gil Grissom's.

"What?"

"We're still up for breakfast, aren't we?"

Greg wanted to say, 'hell, no!' but the eager look on Gil's face completely disarmed him.

"Yeah," Greg said. "Blueberry Hill, Seven O'clock. Your treat, remember?" He waved a warning finger in Gil's direction.

"Of course," Gil said solemnly.

Greg smiled despite himself.

"See ya later, then," he said good-naturedly.

He shook his head as he let the office. He just couldn't stay mad at Gil.

--

Grissom kept his gaze on the door even after Greg disappeared from sight.

"See you later," he said softly. He hesitated for a second, then added, "Sweetheart." The word sounded odd to his ears, almost as if it were in a foreign language.

His lips parted again. "Honey," he said, more confidently this time. "Baby… Love of my life..."

He smiled ruefully.

Hopefully, one day he'd have the guts to say even one of those words.

* * *

The End

Thanks to Mr. WP, who provided the words. He said, 'He's my angel…' And yes, he was talking about his dog.


	2. Buddy

Sweet nothings

Part two

I realized there was a scene missing between chapters one and two, so here it is.

* * *

Greg Sanders stirred under the bedcovers. There was something bothering him, and the vague discomfort had begun to tease him out of a deep slumber.

But he didn't give in.

He was just too good at ignoring discomforts. Outside noises, stomach aches, itches... He could sleep right through any of those -it's how he'd survived college. He was restless for a few seconds, and then he stopped moving. He was asleep again.

But not for long.

That vague uneasiness kept nagging at him, intruding even in his dreams. And now it wasn't vague anymore; it was starting to take a more definite shape. It was –

It was –

_Thirst. _

Greg tried to ignore it. Real or dream, he didn't care; he just wanted it to go away. Stubbornly, he held on to sleep.

_Thirst…_

_THIRST..._

God, he was so thirsty.

Greg blinked. Suddenly awake, he realized that it was true. He _was_ thirsty; parched, in fact. But -why?

He glanced around. The bedroom was dark and cool; there was really no reason for him to be this thirsty, unless -

Of course.

The bacon rolls.

He had gobbled up six of them at breakfast. He could picture them very well: Six smoky, savory bacon rolls; so hot and spicy, so…

So greasy and - _salty._

Greg closed his eyes shut. 'Forget the rolls,' he pleaded silently; 'Forget you're thirsty -'

But how could he, when the aftertaste of the rolls was even stronger than the mint of his toothpaste? He gulped a couple of times, but nothing could erase that taste. Dejectedly, Greg glanced at the man sleeping right next to him.

'Maybe Gil's right', he thought; 'maybe those Blueberry Hill rolls are nothing but sodium-laden time-bombs.'

He envied Gil; the older man was lying on his side, half-buried under the comforter, his breathing even and calm. It was enough to make him want to burrow closer. After all, cuddling up to Gil had always had a calming effect on him.

Smiling to himself, Greg lifted the covers and started to inch his way into Gil's arms.

A sudden kick on the shin put an end to that.

Greg scrambled away, his eyes bulging open.

"What the -?" He looked around in confusion, and then threw an accusing look at the only possible culprit. "Hey," he protested. He pulled Gil's covers away, but the movement failed to wake him up.

In the semi-darkness, Gil looked tense, his face showing the inner conflicts haunting his dreams. His mouth twitched at a corner.

"Oh, great," Greg muttered morosely. "He's kicking in his sleep again."

He'd learned the hard way about this little quirk of Gil's. Whenever Gil's stress levels reached an unmanageable high, he resorted to kicking -although, if you asked him, he'd deny it every time. 'I'd never kick anybody, awake or asleep,' he'd say indignantly -and a little bit haughtily, too- whenever Greg broached the subject.

Oh, but kick he did -not often, thank God; just enough to be a bit of a drag. Those kicks of his had some, well, kick in them.

'Must be those pigeon toes,' Greg muttered, giving Gil a resentful look. But his resentment never lasted long. After all, Gil was only acting like this because the job was getting to him; he just needed to release some steam.

Greg made a mental note to buy tickets for a baseball game; that was often the best outlet for Gil's tensions. Meanwhile, he knew just what to do. He reached out and gently rubbed Gil's shoulder. "Shhhh, is Ok," he muttered soothingly. "It's Ok -"

Under the caress, Gil started to visibly relax. Soon, he was snoring softly.

'Mission Accomplished,' Greg thought with satisfaction.

But for him, going back to sleep was out of the question. Resignedly, he rolled out of bed.

--

Lying in his favorite corner, just outside the bedroom door, Bruno, Gil's dog, eagerly lifted his head the minute the door opened, held it up for a couple of seconds, then dropped it back down when he saw it was only Greg standing there.

He didn't care much for Greg.

But then, Greg didn't care much for Bruno, either.

This morning the young man did what he usually did: ignore the dog. After carefully closing the door behind him, he simply walked past Bruno and went straight to the kitchen, where the sunlight streaming through the glass door hit him full on the face.

"Shit," he muttered, closing his eyes. After the cool darkness, the glare was more than he could take.

Fortunately, he knew his way around even with his eyes closed. He took a bottle of water from the fridge and drank thirstily, lustily, pausing only now and then to take a breath. Revived by the coldness of the water, he finally took a look around.

The clock on the wall said 12:35, which meant he and Gil had had a good four-hour sleep. It never failed, Greg thought with a smile; they really slept better after a copious meal.

Speaking of which…

His eyes fell on the brown bag on the counter. They'd brought some leftovers from Blueberry Hill; a couple of waffles, a Danish. A bacon roll. Thinking of the roll made him reach for the bag. He'd take it with him –along with a couple of bottles of water- so they'd have something to eat the minute Gil woke up.

Munching on a piece of cold waffle, Greg started back to the bedroom. Distracted by the food, he didn't notice the lump crowding the hallway till he almost stepped on it.

Bruno. The dog was no longer huddling in a corner; he was lying across, effectively blocking the way to Gil's bedroom.

Greg stared at him. Now that he was completely awake, the memory of Gil's earlier words came back to sting him. _'He's my angel...'_

"Well, well," he said snidely. "If it isn't Gil's little ray of sunshine."

Bruno didn't stir.

Greg waited for a moment, and then addressed the dog again. "Ok, Bruno. Move."

Had it been Gil, Bruno would have immediately bolted out of the way. But it was Greg, so he did not.

"Oh, come on," Greg said impatiently. "Move, Bruno."

Bruno lifted his head. He stared at Greg as if gauging the young man's intentions, and then he lowered his head again, his watchful eyes never leaving Greg's face.

It was an unfriendly stare –one that Greg had seen before.

"Damn," Greg muttered. He hated it when Bruno went into guard-dog mode. Sure, he understood the dog's need to protect Gil –hey, he even shared that need- but Bruno sometimes acted like his mission in life was to stand between Gil and every other human on earth.

Gil, of course, disagreed on this. 'Bruno would never hurt anyone,' he said. He saw Bruno's huge, soulful eyes of his and assumed the dog was as sweet as he looked. Because, truth to be told, Bruno didn't look mean; he looked forlorn.

But that was the look he was born with, not a trait of character. Greg believed the dog was quite capable of biting a chunk out of anyone who crossed him -which was the reason he never walked around naked. Right now, for instance, he was wearing his boxers. But how protective could those really be?

He looked at the distant door and then back at Bruno. He gauged his chances; he could try to step over the dog and then try to reach Gil's door as fast as he could... But should he risk it, with only a thin pair of boxers on?

"Come on, Bruno," he mumbled. "I just want to get a little sleep."

Bruno eyed him resentfully.

Greg narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, so you're jealous," he said maliciously. "Well, you'd better used to the idea. I'm the 'boyfriend,' here. I mean, I'm not his 'angel' but, still -" Greg paused for a moment, wondering if he was going crazy, talking to a dog as if he were a rival. And the oddest part was that Bruno was looking solemnly at him now, as if he understood the words. "Hey, don't give me that look. There's no reason we can't -"

Suddenly, the door to Gil's bedroom opened, the sound effectively drawing Bruno and Greg's attention away from each other. Both looked up in time to see Gil step outside.

Dressed in baggy cotton pajamas, Grissom looked surprisingly chipper for someone who'd been kicking in his sleep only a while ago.

"Morning," he said. He looked at Greg and then at Bruno, and then back to Greg. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Well," Greg started, "I was just -" he paused. He didn't think saying, 'I was talking Bruno into letting me pass' was such a good idea.

Bruno's response was more effective; he practically leaped in the air and then ran to Gil, his body wiggling all over.

Grissom happily hunched down to greet him.

"Hey, Bruno," he said, running his hands all over the dog's face and body. "How're you? Big boy, big boy!"

Bruno eyed Gil adoringly.

Greg was frowning.

"I thought you were going to stay in bed a while longer."

"Can't," Gil said, his eyes still on Bruno. "I've got to feed the spiders."

"Can't you do that later? We've got all this food -" and he waved the paper bag in the air, momentarily catching Gil' attention.

"More bacon rolls?" Gil asked ironically, "No, thanks. I've got some salad in the fridge." He patted Bruno's head one last time, and then straightened up and walked up to Greg. "Excuse me."

Greg stood aside so Gil could pass, then followed him into the kitchen. He watched as Gil took a canister from one of the cabinets, the word 'Cricket' plastered on a side.

"Didn't you feed them just the other day?"

"It's just a little treat," Gil shrugged, "Besides, I haven't cleaned up in there in a while." He walked up to the glass door as he spoke, but stopped when he noticed that Greg was following him. He turned.

"I'd rather do this alone, if you don't mind." And he actually placed a hand on Greg's chest.

Greg raised his eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Spiders are amazingly sensitive creatures," Gil said matter-of-factly; "If they see a stranger in there, they won't eat." He paused, then added pointedly, "At all."

Greg got the message. He stepped back and let Gil pass.

But he wasn't happy.

"It's not like I'm gonna get in their faces," he muttered.

"They're gonna notice you, believe me." Gil reached for the doorknob, then glanced at Greg, "I'm surprised you even want to come. You'd never shown any interest in my spiders before."

"Yeah, well," Greg muttered. He didn't want to examine his motives too closely. Being jealous of Gil's dog was bad enough; he didn't want to add the rest of Gil's menagerie to the conflict too.

He watched as Gil stepped outside, and felt something close to envy when Bruno trotted right behind.

Grissom stopped when he saw Bruno.

"No," he said firmly. "Stay."

Bruno hesitated. He could not disobey Gil, but he obviously didn't want to be left behind.

"Stay," Gil repeated, and then he tilted his head in the kitchen's direction. "Go back inside."

Bruno gave him one of his trademark sad looks, but it didn't work this time; Gil merely stared back and didn't move until Bruno reluctantly went back inside.

"Good boy," Gil said. He looked at Greg, "I'll be out in an hour," and then he closed the door firmly behind him.

"Ha!" Greg muttered, amused by Bruno's defeat. Then he watched as Gil walked up to the shed he'd built in a corner of his backyard -what he called his sanctuary. Come to think of it, Gil spent a lot of time in there whenever he kicked in his sleep. It seemed working with his spiders calmed him down.

Greg didn't move for a long time, not even after Gil's was out of sight. It wasn't until he heard a deep sigh that his attention was drawn elsewhere.

Beside him, Bruno was looking through the door too, his nose pressed against the glass. He was whining softly.

"You see?" Greg said. He waited till Bruno looked up to add, in the same snide tone he'd used before. "It's not me you should be worried about." He tilted his head in the shed's direction. "It's those damned spiders he spends so much time with."

Bruno sighed again, and his wretchedness seemed so genuine and heart-felt, that it stirred something close to compassion in Greg's heart. After a moment's hesitation, he reached out and gave Bruno a tentative pat on the head.

"I know how you feel," Greg said softly.

Bruno looked up. Their gazes met.

"Hey, you know what?" Greg said, suddenly remembering the bag in his hand, "I've got something here." He reached into the bag, took the roll, broke it in two, and offered the biggest piece to Bruno.

The dog took it after the briefest hesitation.

Soon, they were both chewing in companionable silence.

"Good dog," Greg said, mimicking Gil. "Hey, you know something? You're gonna need plenty of water after that roll. Come on," he added, motioning Bruno to follow him. "Come on, _buddy_."

* * *

TBC


	3. TB

Sweet Nothings

Used to be chapter two; now it's chapter three.

Greg finally dares to say something sweet –but is it?

* * *

Gil Grissom was in the kitchen, staring out the window. It was early morning, and sunshine had started to pour into his backyard, tinting it with shades of gold. It was a glorious day, the kind that sometimes prompted him to go out and do a little gardening, or have breakfast al fresco. But not today. He leant against the counter, taking sips of orange juice from the glass in his hand, taking no real enjoyment either from the beverage or the wonders of nature.

He wasn't really aware of his surroundings at the moment; he was lost in thoughts. So lost, he didn't even notice that someone was creeping up behind him.

Dressed in his best suit, hair still wet from the shower, Greg Sanders moved noiselessly towards Gil, his intentions unclear. The mischievous smile said, 'I'm gonna yell SURPRISE and get him to jump out of his skin!' but the tenderness in his eyes somehow belied that impression. He seemed undecided even as he stood close enough to touch Gil. He hesitated for a couple of seconds, and then let tenderness win.

"Hey," he whispered, gently warning Gil of his presence. He reached over and put both arms around him, tentatively at first, then more assuredly.

Grissom leant into the embrace.

"Hey," he said, glancing over his shoulder. He lifted the glass, "There's orange juice if you want."

"I'm late," Greg muttered. "Got a court appearance, remember?" But he didn't move away; he was perfectly happy keeping Gil within the circle of his arms. "You were awesome last night," he whispered in Gil's ear.

Grissom smiled to himself. That was exactly what he'd been thinking; he was awesome –but then, so was Greg. He wanted to say so, but before he could articulate a word, Greg pressed a kiss on his ear.

"Got to go," he muttered. He hugged Gil one last time, "See ya later -" and then he mumbled a word Gil couldn't quite catch.

Gil frowned. He turned, only to see Greg already walking to the door.

"What did you just say?"

"I said 'see ya later'," Greg said without turning. .

"I heard that. You said something else."

Greg paused by the door. Reluctantly, he glanced at Grissom..

"Yeah," he said. "I did."

Grissom looked at him with interest. They'd never used pet names with each other, but sometimes Greg would blurt out some term of endearment and then be embarrassed about it. Gil usually left it at that, but not this time.

"So?" he prompted. "What did you say?"

Greg hesitated for just a couple of seconds, then looked at him in the eye.

"I said, 'see ya later, TB.'

"TB?" Gil frowned. "What is TB?" He narrowed his eyes. "It's not Tuberculosis, is it?"

Greg chuckled.

"No, it's not tuberculosis. It's -" he paused. Suddenly, the mischievous smile was back, "It's something you're gonna have to find out for yourself."

--

Gil tried.

Busy as he was, both at the lab and at the precinct, he'd used every free moment to find a solution to the TB puzzle. He didn't mind; he loved puzzles, after all.

At first, he'd wondered whether TB had something to do with their job. As it turned out, there were plenty of terms with the initials TB. Trypan blue, for instance; or Tris-borate, testosterone buciclate and Trypanosoma brucei, and others that were just as ludicrous.

At one point he'd even asked help from Doc Robbins, who suggested triceps brachii, total bilirubin and tissue basophils, but absolutely refused to offer others until Gil told him what he needed them for. Then Hodges (who'd been shamelessly eavesdropping) had suggested Tinker Bell, at which point Gil decided that asking for help had been a bad idea.

It suddenly dawned on him that with Greg's ample knowledge of everything from science to pop culture, TB could be just about anything. It could be a proper name, for instance. After all, before he got involved with Gil, Greg had had what he called a healthy (read: promiscuous) sexual life. Could it be that he was comparing Gil to someone from his past?

Gil shook his head at that; if Greg was comparing him to somebody, he could only hope it wasn't to someone nicknamed _Tinker Bell._

And what about a word like 'Top' –like in 'top –something'? It certainly made sense, but the same could be said about Bottom. After all, (and Gil colored a little as he thought about this), as equal-opportunity partners, he and Greg had found themselves in both positions. So, technically, Greg could be referring to that. Top… top something…

He just didn't know.

By then, frustration had already started to set in. He even picked up the phone to ask Greg outright, but he resisted. He needed to find out for himself.

--

It wasn't till about midnight that Gil realized he'd approached the matter from the wrong angle. Instead of looking for random meanings to Greg's words, he should have focused on what mattered the most: the relationship.

They'd been together for over a year, now. They had fun, they got along just fine. All right. What else?

He thought of the night before, and how, after making love, Greg had pulled him into his arms and held him all night long. He rarely did that; usually, he just rolled away and fell asleep. But last night, he'd held on to Grissom just as if -well, just as if he'd been holding a -

"TEDDY BEAR!" Gil blurted out in sudden realization.

"Teddy, who?"

Gil glanced around. Four people were looking inquiringly at him; Catherine Willows, Sara Sidle, Warrick Brown and Greg Sanders. They were sitting with him in the conference room, looking at pictures from a car accident they were trying to reconstruct, and they'd all looked up the moment he spoke.

"Well?" Warrick was looking expectantly at him, probably hoping the words 'Teddy Bear' held some hidden clue.

Grissom recovered quickly.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "Just something I missed in the crossword puzzle today."

Warrick snorted in amusement, and he looked back at the evidence in front of him. Gradually, the others did to –except Greg, who kept his gaze on Gil.

He winked.

* * *

TBC

Here are other TB clues: Test Board, Technical Bulletins, Teenage Boys, Tom Bombadil, Trail Bikes, Thomas Betts. TE Brownstein, Thinking Big, Tommy Bahama, Terrific Broth, Technical Brief, Thermal Balance, Trans Blue, Toner Bottle, Terminal Base, Third Biennial, Travis Barker, Thermal Bremsstrahlung, Terra Bytes, Toggle Buffer, Telescoping Boom, Twin Brook, Trailer Ball, body temperature, Tripti Bhattacharya, Tech Beacon, toluidine blue, Trench Burner, Tension Brake, Torpedo Bay, Trust BNMT, Taiwan Block, Trapezoid Body, Travel Blanket, Traxxas Big, Transient Bounce, Tuning Bekijk, Thunder Breeze, Triangle Bus, Telephone Booth. Tape Builder. Technical Bullitin. Terminal Board or Box, Towed Body (sonar array)


	4. Baby

Sweet Nothings

Greg winked and then he turned his attention back to the report in front of him.

Grissom looked down too, but he couldn't quite focus on the matter at hand. Once the elation of discovery passed, he realized Greg had called him _Teddy Bear._

Why would he do that? Gil was sincerely puzzled, but this wasn't the right place or the right moment to muse over this, er, term of endearment, (or the fact that Greg had winked at him, which was a clear violation of their agreement to keep personal and working relationships apart); he had a job to do, after all, and that's what he set out to do.

Once he focused on the evidence at hand, it wasn't long before he found what they were all looking for.

"Wait," he said. "I think I know where our evidence is going to be." He looked up. "Where's the car?"

"The Bomb Squad hasn't released it yet," Sara said. "Brass said he'd try to speed things up, but -"

"Talk to him," Gil said firmly, "We need that car." He turned to Greg. "See this?" he asked, pointing at a picture of the car's remains. "The evidence is in there. Find it."

Greg took the picture.

"That's the trunk, isn't it? What am I supposed to look for?"

"I can't tell you," Gil replied tersely. "Your findings must be unbiased." He looked around, "Warrick? Go to the morgue; see if the Doc has some preliminary info." He rose from his seat as he spoke, "Catherine? Take the Morrison case. Nick will help you."

"What about you?" challenged Catherine, openly looking at Gil's empty hands.

"I'm going to my office," Gil replied, then pointedly added, "There are over-time reports I need to go over."

Catherine's demeanor instantly changed; after all, the sooner Gil had those reports ready, the sooner they got paid.

"Oh. Good." She smiled, "Go, then. We'll keep you posted."

----

Later that night, Grissom put his glasses down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had taken him three hours, but he'd finished the paperwork: overtime reports, annual vacation programs, sick-leave reports, holiday calendars –they were all taken care of.

He put everything in a file and took it to Judy, the Receptionist.

She smiled when she saw the file.

"To be sent ASAP to Mr. Ecklie?" she asked, anticipating what Gil was going to say.

"Please," he nodded. He glanced around, "Any mail for me?"

"Yes, Dr. Grissom." She handed him some envelopes and a couple of boxes over the counter.

Grissom discarded a couple of envelopes as worthless junk; the boxes he examined more closely.

"You'll need to sign for those," Judy warned.

Grissom reached for a pen. It was a mechanical gesture, one he'd made dozens of times before. He didn't even have to look; Judy's pencil holder had been there forever.

This time, however, he looked, and what he saw made him pause.

The pencil holder was shaped like a teddy bear.

Grissom frowned. How odd; he'd seen that teddy bear before –of course, he had- and yet, he'd never really noticed it. Before he could check the impulse, he picked it up and, after a moment's hesitation, turned it around for inspection.

With its full, round cheeks and jolly smile, it almost looked like every other teddy bear he'd ever seen, except that this one was made of ceramic not fake fur and filler, and it was holding a pencil holder in its lap. The holder was shaped like a barrel, with the words 'honey' printed on it, and the bear's arms and legs were comfortably wrapped around it.

There was a running joke about this bear, Gil now remembered; guys from the day shift claimed the bear wasn't merely embracing the barrel but humping it –hence the bear's wide, jolly smile.

Grissom eyed the bear critically for a long time.

He was looking at the bear's bowed legs when his phone rang.

He had a text message:

'Relax,' it said, 'U don't look like him. G'

Grissom smiled. Greg was somewhere nearby, but he resisted the impulse to look. Instead, he texted his own message: 'That's good to know,' and then went back to his office.

Greg was already there, looking at his cell phone.

He was wearing grease-stained coveralls, proof that he'd been working on the car.

With his face flushed from the exertion and his hair all smeared up and messy, he was quite a sight.

Grissom didn't immediately speak; instead, he lingered by the door. He'd never admit it out loud, but he loved it when Greg got down and dirty at the lab. A dirty Greg was a sexy Greg; utterly irresistible.

Finally aware of the scrutiny, Greg looked up.

"Hey," he smiled.

"Hey," Gil replied, and he casually walked into his office. After decades doing this job, he was quite able to master his feelings. A moment later, he was sitting behind his desk, all business again.

"So, did you work on the car?"

Not that he needed to ask; Greg had obviously been working on the car, and he'd found the evidence too, (otherwise he wouldn't be looking so smug). But it wouldn't be like Greg to come out and simply say so; he liked to add suspense to their conversations. Tonight, for instance, he nodded at Gil's question, but all he said was, "Yes, I did."

"And?" Gil prodded, playing along, "Did you find the evidence?"

"Oh, yeah," Greg said, "I found it all right." But the smugness changed to awe as he added, "How did you know it was gonna be there?"

Gil shrugged.

"You're bound to learn something, after doing the same job for a couple of decades." He was being modest, but deep down he was thrilled, just like he was whenever Greg looked at him this way.

"Well, I found the evidence, all right. I still have to make my report, but I had to let you know."

Grissom smiled. For a while, that's all he did; stare at Greg and smile. He enjoyed moments like this. They were scarce due to their jobs and their own need to keep their relationship a secret, but Grissom found them reassuring. He'd never told Greg this but sometimes, when they spent too much time apart, he had the fleeting impression that their relationship was only a very elaborate fantasy.

"Have a seat," Gil said cordially.

"Are you sure?" Greg asked as he tentatively pulled a chair. "I'm gonna leave grease stains all over -"

"That's ok. Ecklie's coming by later; he'll take care of those."

Greg gaped, then chuckled.

"You're like a little kid, sometimes."

Gil cocked his head.

"I thought I was more like a teddy bear."

Greg looked up in surprise. He obviously didn't expect Gil to be so direct.

"Oh. That." He seemed a bit uncomfortable, now. "I guess you think it's childish, huh?"

Gil shrugged noncommittally.

"It's better than Tinker Bell," he said philosophically.

Greg raised his eyebrows.

"Tinker Bell? Where did you get that?"

"That was Hodges' brilliant suggestion."

"Hodges? Why would Hodges suggest anything to you?"

"He was eavesdropping," Gil said ruefully. "I was asking Doc Robbins to think of as many TB combinations as he could, and Hodges -"

"You asked the Doc? That's cheating!"

"I just thought TB was something related to work that I might not be aware of," Gil said defensively. ("Hardly," Greg muttered.) "Anyway, the doc didn't come up with Teddy Bear either –although he did give me some very interesting TB alternatives."

Greg smiled.

"So," he said. "What do you think?" The smile turned mischievous, "Can I call you TB now and then?"

"I guess," Gil said slowly. He was silent for a moment. "I never had a nickname," he said thoughtfully. "Unless you count Gruesome Grissom." ("Ew," Greg muttered.) "My own family never called me anything but Gil."

"My family never called me anything but 'Gregory' either," Greg said. "I did get nicknames all through high school and college, but they weren't what you might call 'sweet names' –you know; the kind that say, 'I love you'." He smiled. He kept his gaze on Grissom, and suddenly, the older man had the distinct feeling that Greg was waiting for him to say something, only he had no idea what it was.

Gil's smile wavered.

"So -" he said tentatively.

"So," Greg said. He waited some more, then seemed to give up. "Anyway, I promise not to call you TB too often," he said good-naturedly.

Gil grinned.

"Ok, then," Greg said, putting his hands on the chair's armrest.

"I guess I ought to go back to the lab and finish cleaning up."

Grissom didn't reply. He didn't want Greg to go, but there was no use saying so. Instead, he followed Greg with his eyes, intent on savoring the young man's presence till the very end. It wasn't till Greg was reaching the doorway that a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Hey, Greg?"

The young man turned.

"Yeah?"

"I've never given you a nickname."

Greg paused for a moment, then retraced a couple of steps into the office.

"No," he said quietly. "You haven't."

Grissom nodded slightly.

"And I've never said anything about -" His lips moved, but no sound came out. He vaguely gestured at the space between them.

"About us?" Greg said helpfully.

Grissom nodded, grateful that Greg had grasped his meaning.

"I… I've never really said it."

"Yeah," Greg smiled, "I've noticed."

Gil gulped.

"Does it bother you?"

"Well… Yeah." Greg said slowly. "Sometimes. But then I realize that this is who you are. Right? I mean, if you suddenly started calling me 'sweetie pooh,' or 'honey lover,' or -"

"Sweetie pooh?"

"Yeah." Reluctantly, Greg added, "There was this guy –a former boyfriend. He'd call me things like 'sweetie' or 'poopie' and shit like that."

Gil's eyes widened.

"Poopie?"

"My point is," Greg glared, "If you started calling me names, then it wouldn't be you anymore."

"Oh." Gil pondered this for a moment. "So, it's ok if I don't -" he let the word trail off. He needed to know that he and Greg were on the same page on this.

"It's ok." Greg said quietly. He paused for a moment, as if to make sure Gil believed him, then turned to the door again. He didn't seem as determined this time, however, and Grissom wasn't surprised when the young man stopped. "It's just -"

"What?"

"Well, it's just… Sometimes it's hard to know if –I mean, I'm not really sure if -" He stopped again. "What I'm trying to say is… You like being alone. You can walk away from this any time you want -"

"So can you."

"But I don't want to."

"Neither do I." Grissom paused for a moment, a bit surprised at the vehemence of his own response. But it was the truth. "I like what we have," he said. "Being with you is…" He struggled to find the right word. "Joyful," he said, frowning at the word he'd chosen.

Greg was surprised, too. He looked at Gil with interest.

"Really? Joyful?" Gil only nodded. "Oh. Ok." Greg looked pleased. "Well!" he said, in a 'my business here is over' tone, "I guess I'll go back to the lab then. Gotta lot to do. There's the car –I've got to put it back together again." He was walking away even as he spoke, "Then I gotta call Sara and write my report. But first, I've gotta take these rags off and take a long, hot shower -"

Gil smiled benevolently as he visualized Greg writing a report and putting the car back together again; but the minute he visualized Greg taking off his clothes and stepping into the shower…

"Oh, yeah, baby," he blurted out, loud enough -unfortunately- for Greg to hear.

The young man turned abruptly, eyes bulging in surprise.

"What?"

Grissom looked up in confusion.

"What?"

"Did you just say…?"

"What?" Gil said, more forcefully this time. No way was he going to admit he'd said what he'd just said -oh, no; no way.

Greg was staring at him in wonder.

"You said -" He hesitated for a couple of seconds, then scoffed and shook his head in amusement. "Nah. I thought I heard you say something but –no way."

He did leave the office this time, shaking his head all the way.

Once he was left alone, Grissom sighed in defeat.

"Oh, I'm such a coward."

* * *

TBC


End file.
